


Spin the Fudging Bottle

by SNQA



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Love, preteen love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SNQA/pseuds/SNQA
Summary: One year after preteen Quinn and Carrie meet at a haunted house on Halloween.  He's in love, but is she?This is the sequel to "Fudge Me: A Preteen C/Q Halloween". If you haven't read it, it's short, so don't be lazy.http://archiveofourown.org/works/8428459





	Spin the Fudging Bottle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [FrangipaniFlower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/gifts).



> A special thanks to ascloseasthis, Leblanc1 and FrangipaniFlower for their amazing editing and generous support!!

It's done. After twenty-four hours of contemplation, three hours of rehearsing what to say — thirty of those minutes spent in front of the bathroom mirror —  painstakingly deciding on the most auspicious moment, with sweaty palms and a rapidly beating heart, he finally asks her. Ironically, at that precise instant, her attention is diverted to someone else.

 

“Carrie!” Quinn calls out, waving his hand in front of her face as Carrie stares past him and into the distance; a dollop of yogurt wobbles on the spoon that’s frozen in front of her.

 

“Huh? What?” Carrie huffs, shaking her head slightly and turning her attention back to Quinn, who is sitting across from her in the noisy cafeteria, the din of hormonal teen echoing around the room as she finally puts the plastic spoon into her mouth.

 

“Did you hear anything I just said?” He rolls his eyes, jaw clenching.

 

“Yeah. Sure. Something about… umm...”

 

“Maybe if you would stop obsessing over that red-haired motherfu — _motherfudger_ at the other end of the cafeteria, you would know that I asked if you want to come to Eden’s party with me.”

 

“I'm not obsessed! I've told you, he's a troublemaker and I'm just doing my job as a school safety, keeping an eye on him.”

 

“Fine, Carrie. Whatever you say. So, do you want to go with me or not?” Quinn asks shyly, his eyes gazing downward at his uneaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “As friends,” he adds, clearing his throat while he picks at the crust of his bread.

 

Carrie’s eye narrow. “How did _you_ get invited to one of Eden’s parties? That’s usually just for the ‘in’ kids.”

 

“I don’t know. She likes me, I guess,” Quinn shrugs, his voice soft.

 

Carrie glances back over to Brody, whose arm is around Jessica, the cute brunette who’s been hanging around him for the past month. Carrie had seen them kissing behind the bleachers the week before, so she’s pretty sure they’re going together.

 

She turns back to Quinn, who, she notices, has picked apart his entire sandwich so that all that’s left of it is a pile of pb&j globs — his fingers covered with the sticky mixture.

 

“Quinn, what’s going on with you?” Carrie asks, leaning back to regard her best friend, her forehead furrowing in confusion that borders on suspicion.

 

For a brief second, he thinks Carrie sees it — has figured out his secret. “Nothing,” he asserts, finally lifting his head to study her face; her eyes convey nothing. “Hey, I just — I heard that Brody and Jessica will be there,” Quinn adds, finally popping one of the gooey globs into his mouth with practiced confidence.

 

Carrie’s eyes widen, “Really? Not that I care or anything. Uh, Quinn. What the hell did you do to your sandwich?” Carrie asks.

 

Ignoring Carrie’s evasiveness, Quinn launches another piece of the massacred sandwich into his mouth, his tongue sticking to its roof as he tries but fails to say the word, “well?”

 

“Sure. Okay. But, yeah, it’s not, y’know, a date. That’s just... weird,” Carrie reiterates with a chuckle, as Quinn lifts his head up, trying to contain the guarded, but optimistic, smile that is threatening his cool-nothing-bothers-me-I couldn’t-care-less facade.

 

“Cool. So, eight? I’ll pick you up,” Quinn nervously starts to clean the mess in front of him, again avoiding eye contact with Carrie, who choses to remain clueless as to why her best friend is acting so strangely.

 

“Sure,” Carrie replies, watching Quinn as he gets up from the bench, grabbing his backpack and the remainders of his brown-bagged lunch. “Quinn, where are you going? We still have... fifteen minutes before class,” Carrie questions, looking at her watch just as Quinn begins to take a step toward the cafeteria exit.

 

Quinn freezes and turns back to Carrie, her puzzled expression creating a vertical line in between her eyebrows. “Uh… I have to… I forgot something… in math class. I’ll catch you later.” Quinn hurries out of the chaotic room; once he's out of Carrie’s sight, he relaxes and allows a huge, dimpled grin to take over his face.

 

_______________________________

 

It had been almost a year since they had met on that late October evening at the haunted house. She had become his best friend; his only true friend, besides Max, since he’d moved away from Baltimore and into the Northern Virginia suburb with his mother.

 

They hung out just about every weekend. Went to the mall and to the movies together. Took bike rides and went running in the warm weather. Quinn had even been teaching Carrie some of his Krav Maga moves, which Carrie thinks could be very useful in her future career. But for Quinn, it's been a good excuse to spend more time with her and to be able touch her without being inappropriate. In return, she's been teaching him some yoga postures, which allows him to be touched _by_ her _and_ he gets to watch her do downward dog. It's win-win situation all around.

 

But mostly they just talk. About everything — well, almost everything.  The fact that Quinn has been in love with her since the first time he saw her is  something he’s hidden, or at least has tried to hide, for good reason.  

 

But something had changed last month when they’d seen “When Harry Met Sally” together — a movie about best friends who fall in love.  It’s their custom to discuss the film, or really Carrie’s habit to lecture him immediately after every movie they see together, but she’d been unusually quiet after this one. He’d thought maybe she was embarrassed by the orgasm scene, because he had noticed her slinking down in her seat during that part of the movie.

 

But since that night, there’s been a slight, barely perceptible, shift. Maybe it was his imagination, but she was looking at him differently. Twice, he’d noticed her staring at him when he didn't have food stuck in his teeth or in the small collection of hairs that had just begun to sprout above and below his lips. Maybe she felt the same way and was scared too?  But it took Harry twelve years to realize he was in love with Sally, and Quinn didn’t think he could wait that long.  

 

He rushes home from school that day, giving Carrie another lame excuse as to why he can't walk home with her, as they have every day since Halloween.

 

He’s nervous about the party and wants to make sure everything is perfect. This is his chance. Everyone will be paired up — a fact which he’d “forgotten” to mention. Hell, he doesn’t even know if Brody is invited, let alone coming to this thing.

 

He needs a plan. And a plan B in case it all goes to shit. Max, his other best friend and the only person who knows about his feelings for Carrie, had come up with his own plan, and is on his way over to help out — something about a possible “game changer” for Quinn in his mission to “level up” in his relationship with Carrie.  But Quinn is skeptical.

 

For hacking into the school computer to change a grade, Max is your guy. But for assisting with date prep, not so much. Max can’t even get up the nerve to talk to Fara, the cute seventh grader in his science class that he’s been obsessing over,  so Quinn isn’t very hopeful about his little friend’s new “can’t fail” strategy.

 

“Hey,” Quinn says anxiously, as Max enters the house, a JanSport backpack slung over his shoulder and a Capri Sun berry-flavored juice pouch in hand.

 

Max gives a nod in return. “Your mom at work?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You have a VCR, right?” Max pulls out a videotape from his backpack, proudly waving it directly in front of Quinn’s anxious face. “Are you ready for your first training exercise for Operation First Base?”

 

“Um, Max. What is this?” Quinn’s jaw clenches as he looks in earnest at his well-intentioned and resourceful friend, snatching the tape from his hand.

 

Quinn leads Max into the den and sticks the unmarked VHS tape into the machine. He presses the play button apprehensively and stands in front of the television as Max finds a seat on the edge of the couch.

 

The video begins to play, mid-scene, as a woman, completely naked, is seen lying across a desk while a man in a suit is touching her… Their eyes both widen as they stare in astonishment at the small screen; unable to fully comprehend and appreciate what is taking place in front of them.

 

“Max, I said I wanted help getting to first base, not… is there even a base for what they’re doing?” Quinn stammers, as he tries to recollect Cal Ripken, Jr.’s lifetime batting average and home run stats; fighting the growing warmth he's feeling below his waist.

 

He quickly sits down on the couch, as far away from Max as possible. “Where the hell did you get this?”

 

“I borrowed it from Virgil.”

 

“You _borrowed_ it?”

 

“Yeah. He doesn’t _know_ I borrowed it, but I’m gonna give it back. Today... later… before he gets home from work, so we don’t have too much time,” Max stutters, his eyes never leaving the television.

 

“Crap, Max. Virgil will lose his shit if he knows you took this. How the hell did even you get into his room?”

 

“I picked the lock. It was easy. I hardwired a surveillance camera in there, too,” Max responds impatiently. “Quinn. Dude. I really want to stop talking about my brother right now, okay?  Look at what that guy is doing to her. The sex ed in our school is a joke,” Max exclaims while adjusting the crotch of his pants before reaching for his backpack and stealthily placing it on his lap.

 

Quinn’s brow furrows as he tilts his head to look at the screen. “How the fuck do they get the camera that close to her...?” Quinn attempts to ask before shaking his head, trying to get back to reality. “This is going to help me with Carrie? I just want to _kiss her_...  and this is… what the hell am I even looking at?” Quinn exhales, shifting his hips uncomfortably as the high-pitched moans from the TV get louder and faster.

 

“He _is_ kissing her. Just not on her mouth.” Max chuckles nervously, then clears his throat. “Well, the lady in the movie seems to be liking it.  So, just do that.”

 

“Seriously, Max? I mean, yeah, that looks… ah... yeah. Is that her liking it or  —?” Quinn sighs, running his hand through his hair while ogling the screen.

 

The moaning reaches a crescendo as the actress cries out, then sighs contentedly, as the room falls _mostly_ silent — Quinn struggles to ignore the source of the continued sounds of heavy breathing emanating from his co-conspirator.

 

“She definitely liked it.” Max mutters, pushing his glasses up on his nose and briefly glancing over at Quinn. “I better get this back to Virgil.”

 

“Wait. Just a few more minutes. I kinda wanna find out if the girl gets hired for the job.” He looks over at Max who has a look of disbelief on his face.

 

“I think the _guy_ is about to get a job… heh,” Max snorts as he brings the straw of his juice up to his lips, applying a little too much pressure to the pouch. “Shit!” he yells as the juice spills out and onto the crotch of his pants. “Sorry... yeah... sure. A few more minutes.”

 

\----------------------------------------

 

After Max leaves, Quinn crawls into his bed,  mentally _and_ physically frustrated. As he stares up at the popcorn ceiling, he thinks about Carrie, wondering what she’s feeling at this very moment. Is she thinking about him?

 

He desperately wants to tell her the truth — what she truly means to him. Wants to show her. To be her first kiss and for her to be his.

 

Not like what he saw in Max’s video.

 

He closes his eyes and rolls over on his side, trying to get the images and sounds of the past hour out of his head. _Fucking Max._

 

It should be so simple. He loves her and wants her to love him too. But he is quickly finding out that being in love is much more complicated than he had ever thought it would be — there's nothing simple about it.

\---------------------------------------

 

It's quarter to eight and Quinn is still frantically trying to get his hair just right. His mom lent him her hair gel so he could try to get it to look like Fox Mulder’s — Carrie’d had a mad crush on him since they started watching _The X-Files_ together. But, being a novice in the art of hair gelling, he’d used a little too much, and the front of his hair is sticking straight up. So instead of looking like Mulder, he looks like that old guy who plays a teenager on _Beverly Hills 90210_.

 

_Fuck me._

 

He throws on his navy button-down, the one Carrie had liked when they’d gone to the movie, says goodbye to his mom, and heads out the door.

 

Quinn gets to her house right on time, surprised to find Carrie, who is usually late for everything, waiting on the front porch.

 

She looks beautiful. Her long blonde hair, usually tied up in a ponytail, is down, falling past her shoulders with just a slight wave on the ends. Her blue eyes sparkle from the tiny bit of eye makeup  and her lips... pink, glossy — definitely kissable. He can’t take his eyes off of her.  He just stares at her for what seems like an eternity from across the dimly lit porch.

 

“Fudge me,” Quinn mumbles under his breath. “You look nice.” He can feel his cheeks turning red and he prays that the light isn't bright enough for Carrie to notice.

 

“Thanks,” she smiles at him, tilting her head slightly. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah. I’m great! You?” Quinn says, a little too enthusiastically, wincing at his own social ineptitude.

 

“I’m good,” Carrie chuckles. They stand there for a moment, in a familiar, but still slightly awkward silence. Finally Carrie finds her voice and says, “So. Um, how did your firecracker experiment go? You said you had to work on it after school? It sounds kinda dangerous — I’m surprised Mr. Lockhart is letting you do it for your science project.” Carrie babbles -— uncharacteristically — as she runs her hand through her hair, looking into Quinn’s eyes.

 

“Huh? Oh, right. Yeah. Actually, he changed his mind on that, so, I have to figure out something else,” Quinn stammers, before clearing his throat. “Ready?”

 

“Ready.”

 

They walk silently, side by side, along the tree-lined path.  Quinn can feel his heart racing; panic coming over him at the thought of what the night may, or may not, bring.

 

“You’re so quiet tonight,” Carrie says, glancing over at Quinn who is gazing downwards. “Well, you’re always quiet, but you just seem, I dunno, different.”

 

“No. I mean, I was just thinking… you wanna smoke a cigarette?  I took one from my mom. We can share.” The words barely escape his lips before regret overcomes him, anticipating Carrie's strong disapproval.

 

He had intended to smoke it after he dropped Carrie off for the night, in either celebration of his success or for some medicinal comfort in his failure. This off-script moment will certainly cost him.

 

“Since when do you smoke?” Her eyes narrow as she stops walking, her hands on her hips.

 

“I dunno. Sometimes I do,” Quinn says confidently, deciding to own up to it, assuming he's already blown his chance with her.

 

“Yeah. Okay.”

 

“Really?” Quinn says, trying to hide his surprise by nodding calmly, realizing his narrow escape from certain permanent friend zone. “Cool.”

 

Quinn takes Carrie’s hand and leads her to the empty school parking lot nearby. He takes the cigarette from his pocket and lights it, blowing the smoke away from Carrie with an audible exhale; the smoke from the lit cigarette rises above his head like a halo.

 

“Here,” he says, handing the cigarette to Carrie.  She takes it confidently and, after few seconds, takes a small drag and blows out the smoke with ease.

 

“So, you've done this before.” Quinn grins, the thought of Carrie being a ‘bad girl’ allows him to relax just a little.

 

“Of course. I _am_ almost thirteen, you know. My sister and I sometimes sneak them behind the shed in the back of our house. My dad would kill us if he found out.”

 

“Yeah. My mom would be pissed, too.”

 

“Can I ask you something?” Carrie’s face turns serious, making Quinn swallow hard in anticipation.

 

“Sure. Anything.” Carrie passes the cigarette back to Quinn, who immediately takes a deep inhale and returns it to Carrie’s waiting hand.

 

“Did you ever know your dad? If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, I just... I've told you about my mom leaving and—”

 

“No. It's okay. He left when I was two, so I really don't remember him. My mom doesn't talk too much about him either, except to tell me what an asshole he was,” he gives her a half-smile and waves off her offering of what’s left of the cigarette, still glowing in her hand.

 

“I'm sorry, Quinn,” she says, her voice soft, before taking a long final drag and throwing the butt to the cement, crushing it with the heel of her black Doc Marten boot.

 

She lifts her head to look into Quinn's eyes and for a moment, he thinks, maybe...

 

“I like your hair,” she teases, a huge grin lighting up her face.  “You should wear it like that all the time.” Carrie slowly moves her hand to run her fingers through the front of his hair, her eyes never leaving his.

 

“I didn’t even know you owned hair gel,” she adds, pulling her hand away and tucking her own hair behind her ear.

 

Quinn, his heart beating out of his chest, gazes down at his feet, his hands sliding into his front pockets.

 

“We should probably get going,” a bashful smile crosses his lips as he turns to walk; Carrie following a step behind.

 

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

Carrie and Quinn arrive in front of Eden’s house after a few blocks of easy chatting about the latest episode of _The X-Files_ and how cool it would be if they could work together in the FBI when they are older. She does that for him, he realizes - she draws him out, making him feel at ease when he’s at his most uneasy.

 

As they approach the front door, Quinn pauses. “We don't have to go, you know,” he says nervously, having second thoughts about his plan.

 

“Huh? What are you talking about?

 

“I dunno, we can do something else instead.”

 

“But we're already here and you told Eden we would come.”

 

“Yeah. Okay,” Quinn mutters, before gently knocking on the front door.

 

Eden’s older sister answers the door, their parents are apparently out for the evening, and escorts them to the open basement door.  Quinn pauses there, at the top of the stairs and apprehensively glances down into the room, seeing the exclusive group of seventh graders that have gathered.

 

It’s a small bunch, eight kids including themselves, and Carrie doesn’t seem to notice that everyone is paired off. It just seems like a regular middle school party. The Cure’s “Why Can’t I Be You” plays while the other kids stand around talking and laughing, eating chips and pretzels and drinking Coke.

 

Relief washes over Quinn — no sign of Brody or any R-rated activities. So another potential disaster is averted as he happily decides to abort his overly-ambitious mission and just have some fun. He looks at Carrie for reassurance, studying her face to ensure that she doesn't suspect his prior intentions — showing her a small smile while boldly taking her hand for a brief moment to give it a squeeze when he finally concludes that she is unaware.

 

After they both thoroughly assess their surroundings from the top of the stairs, they finally make their descent into the festively decorated basement. Colorful Christmas lights flicker brightly from the walls of the dingy room, while a mirrored disco ball hangs down from center of the ceiling — casting tiny spots of reflected light onto everything and everyone in the room.

 

As they begin to mingle with their friends, Quinn never loses sight of Carrie, even when they end up at opposite ends of the room.

 

But then he arrives —Brody. Quinn carefully watches Carrie’s face as he enters the room and unabashedly makes his presence known by loudly announcing his arrival; Jessica quietly by his side with an uneasy smile painted across her lips.

 

Quinn tries to maneuver himself over to Carrie, but he’s too late. Brody approaches her at the snack table while Jessica chats with Eden and the other girls — Quinn’s able to get within earshot, knowing he can't trust that motherfudger — no, _motherfucker,_ he thinks — anywhere near Carrie and sadly, unsure if he can trust Carrie around him.

 

“Hey,” Brody grins as he grabs a handful of chips from the bowl. “You're that safety chick that's always staring at me. Sherri, right?”

 

Carrie looks up at Brody, her cheeks flushed, “It's Carrie,” she stutters. “And I don't stare at you. I'm just… it's my job and —”

 

“It's cool. I like when cute girls check me out.” Brody smiles as he strokes Carrie’s arm with one hand, and stuffs the handful of chips into his mouth with the other.

 

“I'm _not_ checking you out —”

 

Being mere feet away, Quinn’s barely-controlled rage begins to boil over, as he pushes his way over to Carrie and Brody. “Everything okay, Carrie?” Quinn discreetly picks up a plastic knife from the table, his eyes focused on Brody’s hand.

 

Brody pulls his hand away. “It's all cool here, dude.  Me and Carrie here were just getting to know each other. Right, Carrie?”

 

“Sure,” Carrie glares at Quinn, unable to hide her embarrassment and confusion over Quinn’s over-the-top rescue attempt. “I'm fine, Quinn. I can take care of myself. Excuse me.”

 

Carrie takes her cup from the table and moves away from the boys, joining Eden and the other girls, while Quinn stares down Brody.

 

Brody’s head rears defensively as his eyes dart around the room and finally land on Quinn’s steady stare. “What's your problem, dude? She said she was fine. We were just talking. I’m not trying to steal your girl or anything. I’ve got Jess.” Brody nods his head in Jessica’s direction.

 

Brody’s body relaxes as he takes his eyes off Quinn and starts to pour himself a drink. “You're Eden’s friend, right? Pete? Yeah, Eden talks about you all time. It’s kinda annoying if you ask me — she’s definitely got a thing for you. But your Carrie is... _really_ cute,” Brody smirks, his eyes finding Carrie across the room, giving her a once-over while taking a sip of his Coke.

 

“Save your bullshit for someone else, _Nick_. Just stay the fuck away from her, you hear me?” Quinn’s eyes widen as he leans in a little closer.

 

Brody stands his ground, their eyes locked as the lights in the room flicker.

 

“Okay everyone. It's time for spin the bottle!” Eden yells excitedly. “Make sure you sit boy-girl-boy-girl in a circle.”

 

Quinn turns away from Brody to look at Carrie; her face mirroring his own panicked expression.

 

They both move toward the center of the room, where the other kids have taken their seats on the floor.  

 

Carrie pauses momentarily, looks over at Quinn, who stands frozen, before sitting down in the circle next to Brody.

 

Quinn quickly takes the free spot on the other side of Carrie, putting his hand on her arm, but she continues to look straight ahead, unwilling to accept the connection he’s offering.

 

The game begins as Eden takes the first spin of the bottle, which lands on Carrie.

 

Carrie’s eyes widen. “Don’t worry, Carrie, I’m _not_ going to kiss you,” Eden giggles. “You’ve never played this before, have you?” Eden continues without giving Carrie a chance to answer. “So, there’s no girl-girl or boy-boy kissing. It’s a re-spin. You’ve got ten seconds to kiss the person. If time is up and you haven’t kissed, you have to _French_ kiss — that means with tongue.” Giggling again, she re-spins the bottle, this time, it lands on Andrew, the bespectacled blond sitting next to her. They both lean in for a fast kiss on the lips, as everyone, with the exception of Carrie and Quinn, cheers them on.

 

“We’re moving clockwise, so, Peter, you're next.” Eden smiles flirtatiously as she pushes the bottle in his direction.

 

Quinn reluctantly takes the bottle, again glancing over to Carrie, who remains forward facing; her stoic expression unchanged from before.

 

He carefully spins the bottle, trying to time it so it lands on Carrie, but unsure what he really wants the outcome to be. He desperately wants to kiss her — and only her — but for their first kiss to be a consequence of peer pressure? It all suddenly feels so wrong.

 

As he watches the bottle turning, he realizes just how utterly fucked he is in this situation. He finds himself wishing he could go back in time — ask her to see the new Indiana Jones movie instead of this clusterfuck of a party.

 

But Quinn, being Quinn, had practiced his bottle spinning skills long in advance of this night, and in anticipation of this exact situation.  So when the bottle comes to a full stop, it's pointing directly at Carrie.

 

Carrie quickly turns to face him, her spine rigid and her hand clenched in a fist. She leans in closer to him —  Quinn not knowing if he should pucker up or throw a block. But then their eyes finally meet, and he sees it — the disappointment. He's betrayed his best friend and he couldn't feel any worse. He's hoping she opts for the punch.

 

“Wait!” Eden squeals as Carrie and Quinn freeze, barring the pulsing twitch in Quinn’s jaw.  “I almost forgot.  You guys came together, so that means you have to go into the closet for seven minutes in heaven,” Eden exclaims in a singsong voice, bouncing up to cross the room, pointing out the closet door.

 

Quinn shakes his head slightly,  realizing that bringing Carrie to this party may have been the worst idea of his young life. “We don't have to do this,” Quinn whispers to Carrie. “I can take you home.”

 

Adding to the horror of the situation, the others begin chanting, “Clo-set! Clo-set!”  

 

Quinn suddenly feels his stomach turn, nausea rising in his throat as he waits for what seems like an eternity for Carrie to answer.

 

“No, I don't wanna go home. Let's get this over with,” Carrie responds coldly, rising to her feet as she heads for the closet. Quinn follows closely behind as the other kids applaud the pioneering couple.

 

Carrie opens the door to the large walk-in closet and steps inside. Shelves cluttered with games and toys line the three walls, and a large bean bag chair fills in the center.  Quinn enters and closes the door behind them. As the room blackens, he breathes in deeply and holds it, standing in complete stillness.

 

Knowing that he needs to face his punishment and not wanting to pass out from lack of oxygen to his brain, he exhales and pulls the long string that hangs down from the overhead light to see Carrie sitting on one side of the chair, looking up at him, her eyes moist.

 

“Well? Aren't you going to sit next to me so we can get this over with?  That _is_ why you brought me here, isn't it?” she says, her voice quavering, tears starting to roll down her cheeks.

 

“No. I…” Quinn sits down next to her on the chair, unable to face her, his hand rubbing his forehead in frustration. Seconds tick by as dread begins rise in Quinn and he finally chokes out, “Carrie, I’m sorry. I-I didn't know it would be like this.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Quinn sees Carrie cross her arms and look away. It is suddenly clear that he needs to make this right in some way. He can’t lose her as a friend. He takes a long breath, shoving his fear and embarrassment aside, and finally finds the nerve to ask the question.  “Are you just sorry it's me in here and not Brody?” he asks, unable to avoid an accusing tone.

 

“You think I want to be in here with _Brody_ ?” She gasps. “I told you already, I just want to make sure he doesn't cause any trouble. I don't trust him — but I _trusted_ you,” her voice dripping with disappointment.

 

Quinn lifts his head to finally look at her. “Really, Carrie? That's all it is with Brody? Cause to me it seems like you like him. So you’re either lying to me or lying to yourself.”

 

“I'm not, Quinn! Don't turn this around on me,” Carrie huffs, her face reddening with indignation. “You're the one that lied. You knew this was a couples party, didn't you? What exactly did you think would happen?”

 

“I don’t know,” Quinn sighs, resigned, leaning back into the bean bag chair. “Nothing, I guess. Let’s just go, Carrie. Unless you want a chance to make out with Brody, but I won't stay to watch that and _I_ don't want to kiss any other girl.”

 

“Quinn...” she pleads, wiping the tears from her face.

 

“What is it about that guy, anyway? He's an asshole, you realize that, don't you?” Quinn sulks, the slightest tinge of jealousy coloring his voice.

 

“I don't know.” Quinn’s eyes narrow in disbelief. “Really, Quinn!  I have this feeling that something is seriously wrong, but I just can't put my finger on what it is,” Carrie exhales sharply, her anger evaporating into frustration, as her eyes silently beg for _his_ trust.

 

His voice softens as he briefly touches her hand, before pulling away in trepidation. “I… I like you, Carrie, okay. You're my best friend. And I'm sorry — I didn't think this through. But I... I think about you all time. And you look so pretty tonight. I’m so sorry I brought you here.” Quinn lowers his head, his voice barely audible, “just, don’t hate me.”

 

“Quinn, I—”

 

“Times up! You can come out now.” Eden interrupts them, her voice loud and cheerful.

 

They both slowly stand up. As Quinn puts his hand on the closet door to open it, Carrie gently touches his hand, pulling it away from the door.

 

“I don’t hate you, Quinn. I like you,” she says sheepishly before going on her tiptoes and placing a soft kiss to his lips, lingering for a brief second. Quinn’s stunned expression earns a laugh from Carrie and she nods with the accomplishment. “There. That's better. We have to at least make it look like we were making out, right? Now you have my lip gloss on you.” Carrie smiles and opens the door, turning back to Quinn. “Can we leave now?”

 

“Yeah… Sure…Yes,” Quinn stutters, the shock of Carrie’s kiss making him a little dizzy as he stumbles out of the closet, following Carrie’s lead.

 

All eyes are on them as they re-enter the room;  Quinn proceeding to tell the worst of his three lame excuses of the day.

 

“Ah, we gotta go. I just remembered that I had promised my mom I would walk our dog. Thanks for inviting us, Eden,” Quinn says confidently; proud of his fast thinking skills.

 

“You probably don’t even have a dog,” Brody grumbles under his breath, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

 

Quinn’s eyes narrow as he stares directly at Brody — his fists clenched, but unable to speak.

 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Carrie declares, glaring at Brody. “We really just want to leave so we can make out some more, if that’s okay with you?”

 

Brody’s eyes widen as he disengages from the couple, glancing downward in silence.

 

Carrie grabs Quinn’s hand as they say their goodbyes and leave — Quinn unable to suppress the huge dimpled grin that bubbles up from inside.

 

Still holding hands as they walk home in silence, Quinn's mind is racing; did she mean she liked him? As more than a friend?

 

Just before they reach Carrie’s house, Quinn stops in front of her neighbor’s pickup truck that's parked on the street — he reluctantly releases her hand. Knowing that this may be his only chance to lay it all out there, to bare his twelve-year-old soul, he pauses for a moment to gather his courage.

 

He takes a deep breath in and slowly releases it, uncertain if he will be able to find his voice.

 

“Carrie?” He says, more loudly than he had intended.

 

She turns to face him, a restrained grin illuminating her face as Quinn nervously blurts out, “When you said that you liked me, did that mean you just like me as a friend or do you like me like me? Because... I really like you.  A lot. And tonight was fun...sort of. Well, the before part was fun and the kiss was nice...really nice... and …”

 

“Quinn, just stop,” she whispers, touching her forefinger to his lips; her eyes finding his, transfixed.

 

And then it happens. It’s sudden and reflexive and he doesn’t remember how he got there, but he’s there. His lips against her lips, fitting together perfectly as his hand comes up to gently caress her cheek.

 

Encircling his other arm around her waist, he pulls her closer, her back arching slightly. He breathes her in as he parts her lips ever so slightly,  his tongue tentatively finding hers; hearing her sigh softly against his mouth as her head tilts in precise countermotion to his.  

 

As Carrie’s hand reaches up to touch his face, he backs her up against the door of the truck, feeling like he’ll never be able to get close enough; wondering if she'll ever allow it.

 

Encouraged by Carrie’s fingers, now running through the hair on the back of his neck and pulling him even closer, he intensifies the kiss, trying to go deeper.  Carefully wanting to explore every part of her soft mouth with his; overwhelmed by how truly amazing it feels.

 

As the moment plays out in slow motion, he wishes it could last forever; wanting to remember how sweet she tastes, how soft her skin feels against the roughness of his hand. Wanting to memorize how her kiss is making him feel — elated and thrilled and terrified all at the same time.

 

But then it’s over, as suddenly as it began. Carrie breaks their connection, her head briefly resting on his shoulder before slipping away from him.

 

“Quinn, I’ll just mess it up,” she exhales, her lips moist and her cheeks flushed.

 

“No you won’t,” Quinn shakes his head, his body still not fully recovered from the excitement of the moment.

 

“I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Quinn, but I don’t think I’m ready for all this yet. I mean, the kiss was good. It was _so_ good. But... I'm scared.” She confesses, moving closer to him again, her arms fidgeting before finally coming to stillness crossed in front her chest. “Can we just go back to being friends?” She pleads, “Best friends?”

 

“I—” he pauses, his heart sinking to his knees as he inhales sharply. “Sure, Carrie. I understand,” Quinn says, despondent; unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.

 

“But when I’m ready, I want it to be you. I really, _really_ want it to be you. Okay? Will you wait for me?” Her eyes dancing shyly before finally settling on his.

 

“Of course I’ll wait for you.” Quinn smiles, reaching out and tenderly tucking her hair behind her ear, as she gently covers his hand with hers. She brings his hand to her mouth and presses her lips into his palm, before finally letting him go — for now.

 

****

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe, just maybe, there will be more to this story.


End file.
